Chapter 1 : Victoire
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Chapter One – Victoire
Victoire Weasley was sick of her life.
No, Victoire Weasley was sick of her job.
No, that wasn’t quite right either.
What Victoire Weasley was really sick of were the stupid journalists that came with her job and her stupid workmates who made her feel guilty and insignificant if she wore jogging bottoms before going to bed.
Yes, joggies! Shock horror! In her own home where no one should care anyway! It was a crime – at least in her line of work it was. Ever since the first Weasley child had graduated from Hogwarts and gone into the modelling business, the cameras and journalists had been following her life. They had been following it anyway since her birth really, just secretly, and her employment at Miss Magic’s Models had only given them an excuse to take the pictures openly instead of hiding in bushes.
That had been five years ago. Five years of wearing stunning, yet uncomfortable clothing every minute of the day. Even her pyjamas had lace and frills in case anyone caught a glimpse of her through the window of her apartment. Which had been exactly what had happened with the jogging bottoms.
Needless to say, Miss Magic had been furious.
“It’s a reflection of the whole company if any of my models are seen looking anything less than spectacular.” Miss Magic had steamed that morning as she stormed around her office. She threw another magazine with Victoire in the joggies plastered on the cover on to her desk with stunning strength for the bony woman. Victoire had just looked away, not wanting to be reminded of last night.
“I am so disappointed in you Victoire. You are one of my top models. You’ve never done something as hideous as this before. What has gotten into you …” Miss Magic continued on for the better part of an hour before letting Victoire go. She walked from the office, the face of composure, as if nothing had happened. She could feel the gazes of Miss Magic’s secretaries and everyone else who had heard the shouting following her as she went past, as if saying ‘Joggies? Really?’
Only when the lift doors had shut did she let herself lean against the wall and let her face drop. It was just such hard work, keeping her appearance up all the time. Victoire loved her job, she really did, but it had taken over her life. It really was exhausting. What she really wanted was to just wear something comfortable and not care what people think. Sighing, she hitched her hand bag back up onto her shoulder and stood up straight as the elevator doors opened. As soon as she had entered into view of the big glass doors that led onto a London street, the journalists that had been waiting there jumped up and the cameras started to flash.
“Miss Weasley! Miss Weasley!” She could hear the cries even before she had exit the building.
“I’ll call the car around, Miss Weasley.” Humphrey, the concierge said delicately.
“To the back entrance please Humphrey.” She replied, keeping her smile up.
“I’m sorry Miss Weasley but the back entrance is even worse than the front. But if you really want to I could try and …”
“Oh, I’ll just go out the front then. Thanks, Humphrey.” He nodded before dialling the number of the driver and murmuring into the receiver. Victoire kept her back to the glass doors as she riffled through her handbag for her sunglasses to protect her eyes from the camera flashes she knew already were going behind her. She took in a deep breath, preparing her for the questions she knew would be shouted at her as soon as she got out of the doors. No comment, no comment, no comment. She rolled the words around in her head and practiced her nice but firm smile.
“Miss Weasley the car is ready for you now.” Humphrey said, picking up and putting down the phone in the same second.
“Here goes nothing,” Victoire murmured, flicking her blonde hair further over her shoulder. Humphrey gave her a small smile before circling back to his computer. Turning around, Victoire plastered her face with the smile she had been practicing before and exited the foyer into the mob of journalists beyond.
“Miss Weasley! How does it feel -”
“Victoire, love your work but -”
“A few questions Miss -”
“How does it feel to be dumped by Teddy Lupin? Does it -”
“- exactly what happened last night?”
“Joggies?! How could you -”
“Teddy Lupin commented -”
“ – broken hearted by the most -”
“- Lupin was seen out with Olivia Quensky last night -”
“How could you -”
“JOGGING BOTTOMS!? REALLY!?”
The outcries of the press battered Victoire’s ears as she pushed her way through the cameras towards the plain black car. Roger, the chauffer, was waiting, ready to open the door as soon as she was close enough. She was nearly there when one reporter refused to get out of her way.
“Victoire, darling, how do you feel right now? Broken hearted? Ashamed?” The reporter whom Victoire vaguely remembered from Hogwarts asked, quill already scrawling across the page.
“No comment. And please, Muggle models use this agency as well. Use a pen.” Victoire smiled sweetly as she kept firm but polite as she tried to push past the reporter again, only to be rebuffed.
“Any comment on Teddy Lupin being seen out with Olivia Quensky last night, only an hour after him leaving your flat?”
Victoire inwardly cringed at the question but kept her outside persona bright as she repeated, “No comment.”
“And one last question,” The reporter bounced her back one more time before asking intensely, “Do you regret putting on those jogging bottoms?”
“No. Comment.” Victoire gritted her teeth and barged her way past the reporter and into the open car door. A few seconds later, Roger started the engine and they were away. Victoire finally relaxed, lowering herself into the car’s leather seats.
“Are you all right, Miss Weasley?” Roger asked.
“Fine, thanks Roger. Would you mind taking me to Lottie’s place? I don’t want to have to deal with the paparazzi again.”
“As you wish, Miss Weasley.” He said politely again, lightly pushing the indicator and turning the corner.
Victoire sighed, pulling off her sunglasses and rubbing her temples. This was one of those times that she wished Miss Magic’s Model Agency didn’t accommodate muggle models as well. Since she hadn’t flooed to the agency, she couldn’t floo out since the muggle models and employees had seen her come in.
She leant her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes, begging herself to keep it together until she got back to her flat. The questions the reporters had thrown at her hadn’t been as easy to ignore as she had made it look. How did Victoire feel right now? Like a hundred elephants had trampled over her, before using her as a litter box. Her comment on Teddy Lupin being out with Olivia Quensky last night, only an hour after leaving her flat? That it broke her heart. And did she regret putting on those jogging bottoms after her and Teddy Lupin, her boyfriend of seven years had broken up?
Not one bloody bit.
“Here we are, Miss Weasley.” Roger said as the car pulled up beside a grungy block of flats that rose up fourteen floors.
“Thanks Roger. Take care.” Victoire climbed out of the car, slipping her sunglasses back on in case of rogue cameras. She entered the run down foyer, heels clicking against the dirty tiled floor. Today, the elevator was working, unlike last week, so Victoire pressed the button to call it. The groans and clanks of it could be heard throughout the entire building, doors screeching open when it arrived. The floor was covered in unmentionable substances and the walls were covered in graffiti but Victoire preferred it to her own sleek, smooth elevator at her block of flats.
The elevator stopped at the seventh floor and Victoire stepped out and walked along to apartment 7H. She knocked twice, then waited for a minute before trying the door handle. It was locked.
"Dominique?" She called as she thumped on the door again. Still no answer.
"DOM!" Victoire shouted exasperatedly, "I know you're in there!" At this she heard loud footsteps and the sound of a lock being pulled back. Through the gap that the door chain left, Victoire could just see the greasy blonde hair of her sister and her ice blue eyes glaring at her.
“You know, one day I won’t be in and then you’ll be stuck.” Dominique sighed, annoyed, letting off the door chain.
“Which is why you should give me a key!” Victoire reasoned as she marched through the door which Dom now held open, sweeping into a mock bow as Victoire strode past.
“Anything you demand, your majesty.” Dom sniped, slamming the door behind Victoire.
Victoire sighed, slipping off her sunglasses and turning away from her destination - the fireplace - to look at her sister. Even as she stood, with one hand on her hip, she still looked ready for a fashion shoot. “Oh don’t give me that Dom. I’ve had a tough day, alright?”
“Oh sorry, did you, like, break a nail today?” Dominique squealed, rolling her eyes.
“Actually, I was hunted by paparazzi all day wanting to tell me about their disgust of me wearing joggies in my own flat and also ask me if I cared that Teddy was seen with that bitch Olivia Quensky last night, only an hour after breaking up with me.” Victoire spouted out, voice starting to wobble at the end.
“Yeah, well, happens to the best of us sweetheart.” Dom called back over her shoulder as she peered in her dirty fridge, looking for something that didn’t stink. Victoire looked at her sister’s arse for a second before turning back towards the fireplace.
“Thanks for the sisterly support.” She murmured underneath her breath as she felt along the mantel piece for the floo powder box.
“Woot, go team Victoire!” Dom said unenthusiastically and sarcastically, turning to the freezer for her food search.
“Apartment 3A, 168 Suffix Street, London.” Victoire said clearly as the green flame engulfed her. She vaguely saw two things flying towards her before they hit her in the head and she fell out of the fireplace at her own apartment. She sat up, rubbing her forehead, before taking in what Dominique had thrown at her at the last minute. A tub of ice cream and a pair of rolled up jogging bottoms, bright pink mind you, sat next to her.
Oh Dom, Victoire thought, smiling as she picked both things up and headed over to the front door to hang up her coat. Her sister was a strange one. Firstly, Dominique insisted that she didn’t want anyone to know where she lived. This, Victoire understood a little, what with the paparazzi that camped outside her door every time a scandal like this happened. Dominique enforced that if they had to come and see her, to tell whomever they had to that they were going to ‘Lottie’s place’.
Secondly, Dominique insisted on living in a run down block of flats in the grungy part of London, saying that she wanted to pay for her flat herself. And since Dominique wanted to be a writer, of what Victoire didn’t know, it meant that the small wage she got from working as a waitress didn’t pay for much.
Third, the most puzzling thing for Victoire to understand was Dominique’s attitude to her family. They fought, but Dom never turned them away. If any of them needed anything, Dom would give it to them, without saying a word. Wouldn’t she at least want a word of thanks?
Sighing at the puzzling mess that was her sister, Victoire popped the ice cream on the bench of her kitchen as she went past it into her bedroom. By instinct, she crept over to her window, which had the floor length curtains pulled tightly across it and peered through the gap. Waiting at the bottom of the flats, right were the foyer let out onto the street was a swarm of paparazzi, obviously waiting for her to get back from the agency. Chuckling, Victoire pulled the curtains tighter together again, and turned back to face her room.
Right in the middle of the floor was the infamous pair of joggies. Grey, baggy, with a hole in the butt. They reminded Victoire of her Hogwarts days, happy days of lounging around in the dormitory, chatting her days away.
Now she couldn’t remember the last time she had talked to her Hogwart’s room mates, her supposed ‘Best Friends Forever’. But last night, she had wanted to feel close to them again. She had just wanted someone’s shoulder to cry on, someone who she could just let out all the frustrations of her life on. So she had put on the jogging bottoms.
The damn jogging bottoms. It was such an out of control move for her. But it had felt so good.
What was the point? Victoire sighed and went to sit on her bed, picking up the jogging bottoms on her way past. Why did she abide by all of Miss Magic’s rules? Because otherwise she wouldn’t have a job, the logical part of her brain said. But did Victoire really want a job where she didn’t have freedom?
It was all just so frustrating! Victoire thought as she ran and bunched the fabric of the jogging bottoms over in her hands. All she wanted to do was to live her life as she pleased. And at this moment, all she wanted to do was wear something comfortable. Just chuck on some jogging bottoms and an old jumper and flop down with some ice cream in front of the telly, feeling sorry for herself.
But who said she couldn’t? Victoire sat up a bit straighter, thinking. Miss Magic would be mad but she wouldn’t fire her, not when Victoire was worth a million galleons. So who else was standing in her way?
No one, that was who.
She was Victoire Weasley, supermodel! Girls looked up to her, boy wanted to snog her and parents wished their children would be that successful. It was the stupid journalists that made the rules about what would ruin your reputation and what wouldn’t. But did she really care what they thought?
And, Victoire slid a smile onto her face, she was sure other people felt the same way.
Victoire stood strongly in the elevator, confident about what she was about to do. The backlash was going to be terrible, but she had accepted that and was prepared. It was the only way to win her freedom from the press, and all the consequences in the world were worth it. She watched the numbers light up as she passed each floor, getting closer and closer towards the ground level.
Victoire had to admit that she was very comfortable. The most comfortable that she had felt in a while in anything, pyjama’s included. She was so damn glad that she would be able to feel like this more often now. After this revelation, she wouldn’t have to worry about always looking perfect.
The elevator dinged.
Suddenly Victoire’s heart was filled with butterflies. She couldn’t do this. Not this. Not something this big. She frantically dived for the buttons to send her anywhere but here, but it was too late. The doors were gliding open, and Humphrey the concierge was looking up from his papers to see who had come down. Victoire expected him to be shocked, surprised, even horrified. But Humphrey only smiled and winked at her.
“Feeling comfortable, Miss Weasley?” He asked, raising one eyebrow. Victoire froze, flat against the back wall of the elevator. Could she do this?
An unknown force was moving her legs out of the elevator, into plain sight of the reporters. “Yes, thank you Humphrey.” She said, in an unusually cheerful voice that Victoire didn’t recognize as her own. A stunned silence overtook the reporters outside as she stepped out of the doors and on to the top step. Immediately, the few closest to her retreated, as if bad fashion was catching.
Disgusted at their actions, Victoire stood up straighter and glared down at them all. No matter what she was wearing, she was one of those people who could always be imposing. Even in Dom’s hot pink jogging bottoms, an orange Weasley jumper and black, holey slippers.
“Bad fashion isn’t catching you know,” Victoire started, lifting her chin up. “And personally, I don’t think this is bad fashion. This,” She gestured to her outfit, “This is just me, relaxing in my own flat, where no one has any right to criticize what I’m wearing. You know, I used to be scared about what you would put in the gossip rags about me, but now, I really just don’t care anymore.” A gasp of disbelief spread throughout the crowd.
“Yeah, that’s right. Getting down every word that I’m saying. I’m not scared of you anymore. I am going to wear what I want to wear, whenever I want and there is nothing you can do about it. You have no right to do anything about it. Because what I’m wearing, is probably what you go home and wear when you get home from work. Is it fair that I get hounded for wearing this when I get home from work? No. And it’s sick that some people think that it is.” Victoire finished, still to the stunned silence of the reporters. She waited for a few moments, before turning on her heel and strutting back into the building.
“Feel better Miss Weasley?” Humphrey beamed, the old mans face alight with humour.
“Much, Humphrey.” She smiled at him, genuinely happy as she waited for the elevator to arrive. As it dinged, she let she shoulders relax, realizing that this was the best she had felt in months.
Actually, it was the most comfortable she had felt in years.
A/N: Hiya! First time I’ve posted something that needs to be updated in a while. This one-shot collection will have one chapter focused on each of the Next-Gen characters, though cameos may be made. Hope you enjoy!